


Unassailable Endearment

by starrysummernights



Series: Consent [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Chastity Device, Cock Cages, Consensual Kink, Dom John Watson, Dom/sub, Heavy BDSM, Long Term Orgasm Denial, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Sub Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: Sequel to Immutable Intimacy, 1 of 2. In which Sherlock uses his safeword.





	Unassailable Endearment

**Author's Note:**

> As always: please keep in mind that both Sherlock and John are consenting adults and while they may play out a kinky fantasy, no one is being forced/coerced to do anything and there are safe words in place.

Pleasure crackled like electricity through Sherlock’s body, setting every nerve ending on fire. His hands, splayed on John’s chest, shook from the force of it as he rode him, sat astride John’s hips, his own legs strained to either side. It was Sherlock’s favorite position because he could control the pace, driving them both mad with pleasure. He liked having John this way, laid out beneath him, because he could watch John the whole time and he looked at Sherlock as if he were the best thing he’d ever felt. As if Sherlock were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen. His whole heart was in his eyes and Sherlock would never, ever get tired of seeing that.

Sherlock had ridden him for a while at his own leisurely pace, in reality teasing himself more than John as he raised and then lowered himself with hitching rolls of his hips, letting John’s cock drag across his prostate. They both knew who would benefit from the teasing. Which one of them would be coming. And it wasn’t Sherlock.

It was never Sherlock.

His pleasure built and built, so amazing and good...but entirely pointless. Reaching orgasm was impossible and instead of being released, the pleasure settled between Sherlock’s legs, centered in his cock which pressed against the limits of the steel cage in an attempt to harden. His balls, swollen and sensitive, drew up as everything seemed to be reaching a final crest...only to lower reluctantly when the tight steel ring prevented them from accomplishing what they needed, and the tantalizing feel of possible orgasm faded away.

Sherlock groaned with every thrust from John, his hands at Sherlock’s hips pulling him roughly down onto his cock. Sherlock met him thrust for thrust, slamming himself down repeatedly, his skin smacking against John’s loudly from the force of it. Sweat ran down his forehead and the muscles in his legs screamed with exhaustion, but he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t.

He was so close.

The hard, merciless fuck was getting Sherlock closer to orgasm than he’d been before. He was so _close_. So close. His cock pushed out a gush of precome, white and watery, his body trying to find relief any way it could. Sherlock panted, his cock tingling, working himself faster.

Maybe this was what John wanted? Did he want to see Sherlock come with the cage still locked on his cock? Was that his plan, and why he had kept Sherlock so strictly denied for so long? Sherlock could see the appeal in it: denied orgasm until he was desperate enough that he was forced to come with the cage still trapping his cock. He shuddered at the idea because it was erotic. He wondered what such an orgasm would feel like.

Working himself on John’s cock, Sherlock didn’t know if that was what John wanted. He’d have liked for John to tell him if it was, so he would know what goal he was supposed to be trying to reach. But John hadn’t said anything, and Sherlock just didn’t know.

“John...I- I think I can...I think I’m g-going to…” Sherlock trembled as John’s hands moved from his hips to hold his caged cock and balls, keeping them from bouncing as they moved. He wrapped his hand around the steel lovingly and Sherlock wished, as he always did, that the cage weren’t there so he could actually feel it. It had been ages since John had touched him.

“Really? You really think you’ll be able to come?” He sounded amused, the dismissive tone Sherlock loved to hear which made him feel unimportant, and let him know that he was just here for John’s pleasure and to be used at his whim. As if he could ever forget. He loved that tone of voice directed at him from John and that, combined with the brutal thrusts, each one against his prostate, made his cock even harder.

Or as hard as it could ever get.

“Y-yes?” He watched John stroke at the steel. “I...I think…I think I can?” Sherlock didn’t really know if he could come this way, the cage tight around him, and permission to be allowed stalled across his tongue. Of course, he wanted to ask. Not only because he thought it would please John, but because he actually wanted to come. Quite badly.

Last month had been the one year anniversary of his last orgasm- a ruined orgasm, but as Sherlock didn't get to feel pleasure the same way John did, for him is still counted as an _orgasm_. A whole year. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. Denied. Not a single orgasm, ruined or otherwise. Sherlock would never have thought it was possible to go that long without release, and would have failed on multiple occasions, but John had always been there, helping him. pushing him through, driving him to new levels of submission he hadn’t known existed. Trusting John implicitly with the use of his body and what it was allowed to experience, Sherlock had thought it was a heady rush, a thrilling surrender, and he was grateful to John for showing him he was capable of it.

John had gone all out for the special day, Sherlock remembered as his cock pulsed out another rope of watery come and he pleaded with his body to come. Ropes had been tied in intricate knots and lines all over his body and Sherlock’s favorite flogger- black leather with a hard lacquered handle- was used with expert precision on his cock. He had been unlocked and allowed to get hard- the first time in months- but was given sharp whips with the leather instead of John’s touch. John had told Sherlock that he was finally allowed to come...if he could accomplish it from the just flogger. And Sherlock had tried, so so hard, because with every whip, every painful line lashed across his cock, the pressure inside him grew and it had already been a year and he thought he could. It would be ironic, he knew, to deny him so completely and then make his first orgasm a painfully humiliating one. The glorious caprice from John pushed Sherlock closer, as he waited with bated breath for every new lash, his cock bobbing, leaking a wet patch on the floor between his legs in hopeful expectancy.

Just when Sherlock thought he was close, that the next lash would tip him over the edge, rutting his cock against the air and clenching his muscles, John would unerringly bring the flogger down on Sherlock’s swollen and exposed testicles. The pain, racing up through his gut, was always enough to erase the promising orgasm, leaving Sherlock shaking. Then John would begin all over again. Slapping Sherlock’s cock and watching it bob and his body writhe helplessly. And Sherlock hadn’t been able to come.

At the end of the night, John had sweetly laid him out on the bed, loosened the ropes and rubbed cream on the lashes decorating the tops of Sherlock’s thighs. He’d sucked Sherlock’s cock, as gentle as he could, but Sherlock had still cringed as the smarting, sensitive flesh both begged for the contact and screamed to get away. John had been able to suck Sherlock for a long time, longer than he had in a while, until the pain finally drained away and was replaced with pleasure. Sherlock had twisted, gasping, his entire body on fire and begged to be allowed to come.

“Not tonight, love. You had your chance earlier with the flogger. That was a little treat to see if you actually could do it after so long.” John had smiled, kissing the head of Sherlock’s cock and watching it twitch, precome spooling from the tip. “Remember what I told you. I’ll let you come eventually. A little longer, and I’ll let you. I promise.”

The ice being applied to his cock was both a blessing and a curse, soothing the bruised flesh but forcing it to shrink so the cage could be locked back on. Sherlock had almost cried from the sheer want of the orgasm he hadn’t had- and wouldn’t have for a while longer- and John had hugged him, kissing him and touching him comfortingly. Sherlock had clung to him, trembling, and with the need so intense he almost used his safe word. He didn’t, but that night as they went to sleep, Sherlock cradled in John’s arms and with his body still wracked with need, something had niggled at him.

Sherlock was proud of himself, and of John. A whole year without release. It was the longest he had ever been denied, and the wonderful control John had exerted through the whole experience had been divine, warming Sherlock’s heart that someone could love him so much, be so devoted to him, that they would take the time to indulge him in his darkest fantasies. Even at the end of their anniversary, when John clicked the lock shut, Sherlock had only been half disappointed, something in his chest satisfactorily content to be under John’s control, for all that he’d thought of using his safe word.

But...

Sherlock worked himself on John’s cock, mouth open as he moaned, and he could feel the tightening of John’s muscles under his hands, his hitched breaths and the way his hips began to stutter, losing rhythm. John was about to come. It was no exaggeration to say that Sherlock was more familiar with John’s orgasm than his own.

John was about to come, and Sherlock still wasn’t allowed and his body burned for an orgasm, for the satisfying relief of a _real_ one because it had already been more than 18 months since Sherlock had been allowed _that_ , and he didn’t know how much longer John would keep him denied. He’d said a “couple of months,” but what did that mean? Two? Three? Sherlock didn’t know and he was tired. His body hurt. His testicles throbbed with pain and his cock heaved in the cage, eager to get hard but the steel rings dug into sensitive flesh, biting and keeping him soft.

Suddenly, Sherlock realized in an astonishing flash, that he didn’t like this anymore, the pressure and ache and being in denial.

It was a complete shock, so unexpected Sherlock gasped. Denial had been one of the first things Sherlock asked John for in the beginning of their relationship, when they were deciding what each one of them liked and determining rules and parameters. It was something Sherlock enjoyed and John indulged him over the years, keeping him denied for various lengths of time, days, weeks, months. A few years ago, when John suggested making the cage a permanent part of their dynamic, a permanent part of Sherlock, Sherlock had been _thrilled_. From then on, John always kept him denied, and it became part of their everyday: John came, Sherlock didn't. And the few times he _had_ unlocked Sherlock and let him come, Sherlock had never known if he would be given a real, pleasurable orgasm...or a ruined one. It was a cruel torment, Sherlock straining his body toward a release he'd already gone so long without, begging John to let him come, not knowing if he would feel pleasure or more frustration. 

He'd loved it.

And even over the last year, while he’d begged John for an orgasm, Sherlock was secretly delighted every time John said no. When he extended Sherlock’s denial for another month, left Sherlock wanting and his arousal ratcheted higher, his desire and need doubling, the frantic urge to come beating beneath his ribs and in his trapped cock. Sherlock had loved it.

Except now, he didn’t. It just hurt. The futile struggle of his cock to get hard- which had always been a glaring enigma, the fact that his body in this state was physically unable to become aroused but tried so hard anyway- which Sherlock craved, now made him feel raw and wounded.

And the unsure feeling, the fluttering worry which had been there since their anniversary that he didn’t know the meaning of, the doubt he didn’t understand, hurt worse than the pain his cock was in. To say Sherlock didn’t trust John was absurd. He trusted him with his very life, of course he trusted John with his body and what happened to it. And not just because they chose to play with dominance and submission. He trusted John because he had earned it from Sherlock, over the years, layer by layer, bit by bit, and Sherlock’s faith in John was absolute and unshakable. But the uncertainty of being uncertain was gnawing a hole in his gut.

Sherlock didn’t know why he wanted to safeword. He didn’t know and he was anxious to understand it before he said it, and he had to-

No. That was wrong. He didn’t _have_ to know, Sherlock realized with something akin relief. He didn’t have to know exactly why he was safewording. He was overthinking this like he always did. All Sherlock had to do, to fulfill his part of his submission for John, was to obey their rules and to use his safeword if he ever needed to, letting John know something was wrong so he could fix it immediately.

It was that simple.

They could work out what was wrong and why he had felt like he needed to use his safeword later. Together.

Sherlock rarely used his safeword, but every time he had, John never questioned it. He didn’t ask Sherlock if he were sure or get sulky their fun had ended early. He stopped that second, stopped everything they were doing, and tended to Sherlock, provided aftercare, unwound him from whatever headspace Sherlock had reached. Then, they talked and decided what had gone wrong.

Sherlock was shaky with the relief of his decision. It felt as if a weight had been lifted from his chest. He had been so deep in his submission, lost in his own head, that he hadn’t thought of using his safeword. Now that he had thought of it, he realized that had been the solution all along. He had reached his limit. He was going to safeword.

John stiffened, groaning as he came and Sherlock kissed him messily, smearing their lips together in the way he loved, feeling a calmness despite his desperation that he hadn’t felt in weeks.

“I love you.”

Sherlock smiled, happiness a warm bubble in his chest. “I love you.”

John helped him ease off and to the side, instantly curling around him, touching him everywhere, telling Sherlock with every breath just how proud he was of him and how gorgeous he was, how amazing John thought he was. Sherlock basked in it, his eyes closed, and checked with himself to make sure this was what he wanted, that he wasn’t just using his safeword because he wanted to come. After 18 months without orgasm, a year without release, it wasn’t an inconsequential question. But no. The idea of John extending the denial for an indeterminate amount of time only caused Sherlock to wilt, a heavy weight settling in his chest.

He took a deep breath, and covered John’s hand which was cupping his cheek. “John?”

“Mm?”

“I need to safeword.”

John was immediately alert, all previous lethargy gone as he sat up and looked Sherlock over for any sign of injury or distress. There was none, of course, except for the most obvious, and John touched Sherlock carefully, eyes worried. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do it anymore, John.” Sherlock said in a rush, explaining further when he saw John’s confusion. “The cage. And the denial. Not being allowed to come… I can’t. I think…I’ve reached my limit.”

John took the news in stride, his expression open and honest, with no sign that he was upset or angry with Sherlock. “Ok, that’s fine, sweetheart. That’s perfect. You were so good to go as long as you did, and I’m so _proud_ of you. Fuck. I’m so _proud_ , Sherlock. You were amazing, god, you were so amazing.” John kissed Sherlock softly, reassuring him with his lips and words, clearing away any doubts Sherlock had felt. “God, I’m so proud of you. Here.” John reached behind him for the key where it always was, on the bedside table, but when he tried to unlock the cage, Sherlock stopped him.

“No-!”

“Don’t you want me to take it off? Make you come?” John asked, but his expression cleared and he shook his head. “Don’t feel ashamed, Sherlock. You’ve earned this, god, you’ve more than earned it. I can’t wait to make you come, love. There’s nothing to feel bad about, I promise. I'll make you come- really come- and I’ll make you feel so good because you deserve it.” Sherlock knew John meant every word, and he had safeworded and it was all over. He was grateful for John’s reassurance, but...

“No. I..I don’t want to come yet.” It was a lie. Sherlock wanted to come. He burned for an orgasm and telling John no, after he’d safeworded and was seconds away from coming, made his cock vehemently protest, but he knew his body was too overwrought at the moment to actually enjoy an orgasm. It would probably be more of a pain than pleasure. “I think...I need to wait for a while. It’s...the way I feel right now….It’d be too much, and I want it to feel...good.”

John smiled, his beautiful smile that was rather lopsided and made Sherlock’s heart skip a beat, even after years of seeing it. “Okay. I understand. And it will, you know...I’ll make it feel so good for you. And not just once,” John added, because Sherlock had wondered. It was one of John’s rules after all, but he had safeworded and so everything came to a halt. “I’ll make you come as many times as you want.”

As many times as he wanted. He’d never been allowed that, had only ever been allowed one orgasm at a time, which always left him partially unsatisfied afterward. He bit his lip, heart racing at the prospect of coming again and again until he was fully satisfied. He had to lean up and kiss John’s smile off his face, wrapping his body around him as closely as he could. When it was over, John pulled away and looked down at Sherlock’s cock which was bulging round the steel rings.

“Do you want me to take it off, though? You don’t have to come yet- whenever you want, Sherlock, and I mean that- but do you want the cage gone?”

Sherlock looked down at his cock, considering as it continued to throb in its steel prison which, after so many years, it was more familiar with than actual freedom. Since they’d agreed to make it permanent, John rarely unlocked the cage. Sherlock liked wearing it, but at the moment, he wanted the cage off. He wanted to get hard. He had safeworded. He was allowed. But he was worried. “Can I keep it on for tonight?”

“Of course. Whatever you want. But...why?”

Sherlock blushed, embarrassed but a flicker of arousal stirred in his belly. “I’m afraid I’ll come if I’m not wearing it.” He admitted, and John laughed, kissing him again until Sherlock laughed too, giggling against John’s lips.

“Isn’t that the point of safewording?” John teased, and he looked at Sherlock as if he were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Sherlock’s heart felt full to bursting.

“Yes. And I want to come. But...after this long, I don’t want it to end with an orgasm in my sleep by rubbing against the sheets. I want...I want it to be with you. By you.”

John nodded, hugging him close. “Okay. I understand. Let me know when you’re ready, and it’s gone. I’ll leave the key on the nightstand, all right? If it gets to be too much tonight, you can wake me up, even if it’s three in the goddamn morning. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock said, heartfelt and John kissed him softly. He was so relieved it was over, and he knew they would talk later, when they were each unwound and clear headed, and figure out where to go from here, but there was one question that bothered him.

“John?”

“Hm?”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Over what?”

“Are you disappointed that I didn’t make it as long as you wanted? That I had to safeword?”

John pulled away to look Sherlock in the eyes, his expression serious. “Sherlock. Never, _ever_ think that I am going to be disappointed by you using your safeword. Never think that. I will never be anything less than amazed by you and humbled that you allow me to experience this with you and if you need to use your safeword, use it. No matter what.”

“I know that, John. Really. I do. You’ve never acted disappointed when I use my safeword, and you’ve never made me feel guilty about it. But are you disappointed I couldn’t last as long as you wanted?” That was what bothered Sherlock the most. John had had a goal in mind, he knew he had, and he hadn’t reached it. He had fallen short. It was rare Sherlock had ever done that, and it irritated him that he had this time.

“Seriously?” John chuckled. “Of course I’m not disappointed! Sherlock. It’s been a fucking _year_ since I’ve let you come. Really come, I mean. To be honest, I thought you would have safeworded months ago, but I could tell you were enjoying it. I’ve done all of this for you, thinking it was what you wanted-”

“It was. It is.” Sherlock quickly reassured him, gripping John’s hand. “I’ve loved these past years, John. It’s been terrible and wonderful and I’ve loved every torturous minute of it. I don’t know why I had to safeword. I don’t. I tried to figure it out earlier, before I did, and I just don’t know-”

“Sssh.” John shushed him, pulling Sherlock to him into another hug, tucking Sherlock’s face into the bend of his neck and rubbing his back in slow, soothing strokes. “Ssssh. Calm down, love. Calm down. We can figure all that out later. We’ll talk about what happened, okay?” Sherlock nodded, and John hugged him tighter. “We’ll figure it out together, later. We’ll sit down and talk and work it out. But there’s nothing for you to feel bad over, Sherlock. Absolutely nothing. You used your safeword and I love you for it, and you’ve done nothing wrong.”

He whispered his love into Sherlock’s skin, maneuvering them until they were laid on the bed, stretched beside each other with Sherlock mostly sprawled on top of John, soaking in the love and adoration.

“I love seeing you come. I’ve missed it so much. I can’t wait to see you come, love, I love getting you hard and then watching you go crazy with pleasure, and knowing I’ve done that. Whenever you’re ready, we’ll unlock the cage and I will make you feel so good. I’ll make you come as many times as you want, however you want. You deserve that. Just rest now. You’ve done amazing. Everything I could ever have wanted, you’ve done it, and that includes using your safeword. I’m so proud of you for doing that...thank you, Sherlock….I’m so proud of you...I love you…”

* * *

 

Even after the aftercare, and all the conflicting, tangled emotions were quieted, it was hard for Sherlock to sleep. His body was tightly wired, his cock throbbing incessantly at the idea of being allowed to come and he wished that he’d asked John to unlock the cage. But he was glad he hadn’t because otherwise he would have stroked himself off and came, which would have been disappointing. It had been more than a year and he wanted John to do it.

Sherlock shivered, imagining tomorrow and how good John would make him feel. Excitement bubbled in his chest and Sherlock cupped a hand over his cock, running his fingers over the slick steel bars, relaxing into the control for one last time, wondering what his first orgasm would feel like.

* * *

 

The next morning, Sherlock was awake before John. He knew what had woken him: his cock struggling to get hard in the cage as it did every morning. It pinched his skin, the steel rings vicious, and he shifted, whimpering, trying to find a more comfortable position. He reached down to adjust the cage with practiced precision so he could go back to sleep, rubbing his sore balls as he did-

Then he remembered.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open. He had used his safeword last night. He was going to be allowed to come. Today. Now. Whenever he wanted.

After that, there was no hope of his cock going soft, or going back to sleep. He was wide awake. His heart pounding, Sherlock looked over to John who was still asleep, unaware of the overwrought arousal his partner was currently in. It was still dark outside, and it was very, very early in the morning. Sherlock debated, wanting to wake John but thinking he should let him sleep a bit longer. But John had told him to wake him, anytime, whenever he wanted to come. 

Sherlock poked John’s shoulder.“John?”

John shifted sleepily, not opening his eyes.“Hmm?”

“Will you wake up?”

“Mmhmmm.” John hummed, but still didn’t open his eyes.

“John? I want to come now. Please.”

John inhaled deeply as he at once came awake, raising up on his elbow. His eyes blinked open and he smiled lazily at Sherlock. “Okay. Give me a second to wake up, yeah?” He sat up, not even grumbling at the time, rubbing at his eyes to clear the sleep from them, and Sherlock patiently waited for him, feeling as if he were about to vibrate out of his skin. He was sick with want and he knew his face had to show his eagerness, his cock fighting against the cage as he breathed shallowly. He was going to come.

 _Oh god_.

John rubbed at his eyes once more time, sniffing and shaking his head, coming fully awake and giving Sherlock a wicked look. Even with his hair mussed, at five in the morning, with slight bags under his eyes, he looked sexy. Sherlock was about to come. He’d never loved John more.

“I’m awake.” He said, unnecessarily. “So. How do you want to come, sweetheart?”

Sherlock had thought about it for most of last night. “You….fucking me.”

It was what he had missed the most since he began submitting to John: being fucked, opened and stretched on John’s cock, and feeling his own hard cock slapping against his stomach as he was forced closer with every thrust. That never happened. Sherlock’s cock was always caged when they had sex, denying him the ability to even harden because sex was exclusively for John. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been fucked without the cage and he thought he’d probably forgotten what it even felt like. But he had safeworded and he wanted to feel that again- then, at the perfect moment, John would reach down and stroke Sherlock’s cock, pushing him into a fantastic orgasm.

Sherlock took a shaky gasp, the thought enough to make his stomach cramp with sudden need and John knew how he felt. He was the one who had built up Sherlock’s expectations and arousal. He grinned and leaned over, cupping his hand over the cage, fingers skimming over Sherlock’s testicles and provoking shivers down his spine.

“Sounds perfect.”

* * *

 

They agreed to keep the cage on while John prepared Sherlock, in case the stimulation was too much and he came before it was time. Sherlock whined and writhed on the sheets as John’s slick fingers scissored inside him, his arse sore from being fucked last night, his rim tender, but it only added to everything he was feeling. Precome flowed freely from the tip of his cock, pooling on his testicles and every once in a while, John collected it on his clean fingers and fed it back to Sherlock, letting Sherlock suck on his fingers in excited agitation.

Sherlock moaned, long and drawn out, when John sank slowly inside him, his cock stretching him to what felt like his absolute limit. With every breath he took, Sherlock moaned, again and again, as John slid the key in the small lock of the cage and when it clicked open, Sherlock’s stomach dropped. John worked the steel gently off Sherlock’s cock, the rings catching on his skin where it was swollen, and Sherlock’s mouth fell open as his cock hardened fully. It felt so wonderful. Overwhelming. He could feel tears streaking down the sides of his temples and he was surprised he didn’t come then and there. It felt like he could, one touch would set off the conflagration amassed in his body, but he didn’t. His cock flexed, hard and already dripping, but he didn’t come. There were ridges pressed along the flesh where it had been fighting the steel for so long, and Sherlock wanted to rub those away and soothe the ache, but he grabbed hold of the headboard and waited on John to tell him what to do.

John drew out, his cock catching on Sherlock’s sensitive rim, then thrust back in and the feeling, the throbbing pleasure spiking straight through his hard cock, which for the first time in close to five years instead of being forced to remain soft and forgotten about as it clamored for a relief it wouldn’t be getting, felt incredible. Pleasure sharp and acute. Bone deep. Searing. It made Sherlock cry out, spine bowing.

“John- please!”

John fucked him hard, relentlessly, barely giving Sherlock time to draw breath as he gave Sherlock what he needed. Instead of a soft, lovemaking it was a short brutal fuck which harkened back to their activities last night but was so much more because this time it wasn’t just John who would find relief. Sherlock was hard. Sherlock got to come too. He was allowed.

Sherlock was already so close and his body quickly raced to the edge and then hung there, suspended in a moment, checked, waiting for the customary denial. After a full year of countless edgings by John’s sure and steady hand, his body had been conditioned to expect refusal and his orgasm paused, knowing it wouldn’t be allowed.

Sherlock moaned in disbelief, twisting his hips to get more stimulation, wild to come and he needed it- “John-please!”

John didn’t make him beg or even ask again. He immediately reached down and stroked Sherlock’s cock in time to his thrusts, his hand wonderful and perfect and it only took three passes, three more hard, deep thrusts before Sherlock fell headlong into his first orgasm.

He screamed as it ripped through him, stealing the breath from his lungs and he could feel strips of ejaculate hitting his chest and he was screaming with every spurt, his muscles clamping down on John’s cock as his testicles contracted, emptying themselves in huge, throbbing pulses. John's hand never left him, working him through the entire orgasm, and everything tingled from his testicles to his scalp, everything alight and pleasurable. Sherlock distantly realized, in all actuality, that he had forgotten what an orgasm felt like, because nothing he’d fantasized about had prepared him for the way he felt right then.

He couldn’t open his eyes, even as his body weakly throbbed in aftershocks and slumped on the bed as John kissed his cheeks. Sherlock was crying, the anguish of his denial not fully alleviated, but the sudden lessening of his need was a comforting respite and he felt accomplished and loved and wanted. John embraced him, holding Sherlock while he cried, whispering sweet words in his ear which Sherlock memorized, imprinting them on his heart.

* * *

 

“Tell me where you think I messed up?” John asked later, kissing Sherlock’s shoulder. They were still in bed. They’d gotten up and eaten breakfast, showered, then climbed right back beneath the sheets to relax. John had promised Sherlock a day with as many orgasms as he wanted, and Sherlock could already feel himself beginning to want again. One orgasm wasn’t enough to satisfy the need, and he was ready to start working on it.

“Because I know you enjoy the denial, and the cage...I really thought you were enjoying going that long without orgasm.”

“I was.” Sherlock said truthfully, playing with John’s fingers where they were entwined on his chest. “I did love it. John, that was the longest I’ve ever, in my life, gone without an orgasm- or any release- and it was amazing. The sensations and arousal, feeling your control like that, that deep…” Sherlock shuddered and between them his cock hardened. It took his breath away, the ability to harden so naturally, whenever he wanted. It was such a simple thing but a prodigious achievement for him.

”I still want you to control everything.” He continued. “Like you've been doing. I love wearing the cage, and I love that it’s permanent. I love you having control over it. We’ve been doing this long enough for you to know that.” He teased and John grinned. “But…I think the problem was that when the denial is this long, I need to know.” He had thought about it last night, after John had gone to sleep, among other things, and had reached a conclusion. “The cage itself doesn’t bother me. Or well. It does.” He admitted. “But it’s _supposed_ to. That’s why I love it...It wouldn’t be fun to wear if it was something I didn’t care anything about. But I do. I want to get hard and come, and not being allowed that is it’s own pleasure. I’d rather have that than be allowed to come all the time.”

John nodded, this wasn’t news to him. When Sherlock had first told him he wanted denial, and explained how completely he wanted that denial, he’d been skeptical. But they’d done this for too long for John to doubt anything Sherlock said. If he told John he got off from _not_ getting off, John believed him.

”It’s not the orgasms either." He explained. "Whether you give me a real orgasm or ruined, I mean. I enjoy both- of course, I'd love to have real orgasms more often." He grinned, and John gave him a quick kiss, giggling. "But it's the actual denial...with no release at all. You’ve kept me denied for seven, eight months at a time before I was allowed a release. And even when that release was ruined, I was fine. But, this was different.” Sherlock shook his head ruefully. “I think that’s why I safeworded. I had already gone so long with _any_ release, and I know you told me last month that it would still be a few more months before I came- before the end of the year, I suppose- but that wasn’t enough. I trust you, John. I do, but the uncertainty of it, the not knowing, was too much after so long. I may enjoy hardly ever getting an orgasm and then having that orgasm ruined, but I do still _want_ to orgasm...in some way.”

“I understand.” John kissed Sherlock’s hand. “How do you think I could fix it?”

Sherlock kissed John’s hand in return and he knew he was smiling sappily but no one else was there to see, so it was okay. “I think if you could tell me in advance when you want to deny me release for that long, I would be fine. I would know and I could settle into it. If you had told me when this started that I wouldn’t be coming for the next year, I think it would have helped. We can do this again,” Sherlock said, biting his lip because he did mean that, but the idea was daunting at the moment, “but I need to know that I won’t be coming until a certain date in the future, so when it gets bad, when I don’t think I can handle it anymore, I’ll remind myself of the time I have left, knowing there’s a reward at the end. And that there is a definite end.”

“I understand.” John said again. “That makes sense. I mean, a year is a long time and I think maybe I pushed you too far. I got too into it, seeing you so turned on, subsumed and so submissive, and I let it go on longer than I should…”

“John.” Sherlock said quietly. “I enjoyed it. I would have safeworded sooner if I didn’t.”

“I know but...maybe, I should make you come more often.” John replied. “I’ve been thinking since you safeworded last night, that maybe I’ve gotten too used to you being caged. We’ve been playing with chastity and different cages for a while now, and I’ve gotten too used to me being the only one who comes. Ever since we made the cage permanent.” He said. “I came all the time and I only let you come two or three times a year. And those were always mostly ruined.” He shook his head. “It should be more often.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose indignantly. “I don’t want you to make me come all the time, John. I told you this was what I liked, the denial, and I meant it. You told me what you planned to do, and I agreed. I love it and I wouldn't have agreed if I didn't. Of course…I’d like to come a few more times now.” He suggested and John laughed, wrapping a hand around Sherlock’s cock, making him hiss and stroking him firmly, no teasing. Sherlock’s hips rose shakily off the bed, pushing into John’s hand, and John silently encouraged him.

“Of course. I’ll make you come until you can’t anymore…then we’ll wait until tomorrow and start all over again. You’ll be so pleasured you won’t remember how long I kept you denied.”

“I’m sure I will, John.” Sherlock grinned, but he sobered as John’s hand kept pumping, glorious. “I want you to control it. I love the cage and the denial and your control. I love the orgasms, even if they’re ruined. You know I want to _want_ to have a real orgasm...and not knowing if I’ll get one...But from now on, when it’s this long, for so long. I need to know…if you could just tell me if it’s more than that. In nine months I’ll get a release. I’d know. Or ten. Even…another year.” Sherlock moaned softly as his second orgasm began to unfurl through his body, his testicles pulling up close to his body, free of all restriction and the sensation was heady. “This time, we just went for so long…and I didn’t know…”

“Okay.” John whispered. “I understand. I do. I can do that. So you want me to still control this?” He asked, squeezing Sherlock’s cock demonstrably, making Sherlock moan.

“ _Yes_ , John. _Please_!”

“Okay. Then no more talking unless it’s my name.” John licked his way into Sherlock’s mouth, quickening his hand as precome slicked the head of Sherlock’s cock. “I want to see you come, love.”

* * *

 

“We’ll put this away for now.” John indicated the cage, jingling it so the lock rattled against the steel. He held up a hand when he saw Sherlock open his mouth to protest. “I know you love it and I heard everything you just said. But since you’ve worn it so long nonstop...and I have denied for you so long, and since you did safeword, I want you to spend some time out of it. Just a while. I’m not taking it away forever.”

Sherlock was relieved and he understood what John meant, but he still felt as if he had lost something important when he saw John put the cage in their toy box and close the lid.

“When will I get it back?” He asked, and John kissed him, cocking an eyebrow.

“When I decide I want your cock locked back up.” He said firmly and Sherlock melted. “And not a moment sooner.”

* * *

 

_2 months later_

Sherlock came on New Year’s Eve at the stroke of midnight, John’s mouth wrapped around his cock and his come shooting directly down John’s throat while he shouted loud enough to wake the neighbors. They fucked afterward, John thrusting inside him with his hand on Sherlock’s cock the whole time, teasing him to the edge and then holding him back, making him wait and wail, but by the end stroking him off and leaving him laying spent and boneless against the sheets.

Sherlock sighed, eyes closed, spreadeagled on the bed as he listened to the celebrations down the street, the pops and bangs and shouting as people rang in the new year. He basked in the afterglow, happy and content, his body satiated in a way he hadn’t thought it would ever be again. The low-level buzz of arousal which had been present for years, even after John occasionally let him come, was noticeably absent. Sherlock was glad of it...but missed it at the same time. Not only because it had been with him for so long, but because he loved the denial John gave him and-...when he heard a telltale sound from across the room. He raised his head, hopeful-

The cage.

John smirked at Sherlock’s optimistic look as he lifted the cage from their toy box, adjusting the lock and readying it to be locked back where it belonged. Sherlock couldn’t wait.

The last two months had been wonderful. John, as good as his word, had tended to Sherlock’s every perverted whim, making him come over and over. He’d never had to beg, just ask, and every orgasm had been electrifying. But Sherlock was tired of coming whenever he wanted. He missed the control, and he missed the denial, and he had been hoping John would give it back to him soon.

It had taken a while, the novelty of being allowed to come whenever he wanted slow to wear off. Getting fucked by John without the cage had been particularly wonderful...but by the middle of the second month, Sherlock had started thinking fondly of the cage, being locked while he was fucked and used for John's pleasure, John telling him no and laughing when Sherlock asked permission to come, gently reminding him that he wasn’t allowed to have that, he wasn’t allowed to come anymore, ever. But none of that happened and every time, John had said yes, and Sherlock had came and enjoyed it...but inwardly he had missed what they’d had...

He relaxed as John reached for his cock and slipped the steel rings over him. It fit with obvious familiarity as he fixed it on Sherlock, the ring going around his balls as if it belonged there and Sherlock watched as John compressed his already soft and spent cock even further, making it smaller so that it would fit in the tiny space, filling the cage completely even when soft. He could feel the strict limits already, and he moaned, shifting, the weight of the steel dragging his cock down so it could no longer rise until John allowed it. The lock snapped shut and Sherlock’s breath caught, then sighed out in contentment. When he looked down, the sight of his locked cock, the steel wrapped around him, was familiar and marvelous. John kissed him, tangling their tongues together, his hand tracing the steel, and Sherlock couldn’t feel his touch and he loved him, with all his heart and soul.

“All right.” John said, pulling away, his hand still wrapped around Sherlock’s cock. “How many times, over the past two months, have I made you come?”

Sherlock didn’t have to think. John had told him to keep count, and he had. “29."

“29 times. That’s a record for you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think I’ve came half that much in the last seven years. And that’s including ruined orgasms.” Sherlock joked, but beneath the words he was serious, and John knew it.

“You’re probably right.” He said dismissively, and _oh_. There was the voice again that Sherlock loved. He shivered. John flicked at the steel, his nail clicking against it. “Don’t deserve to come more often than that though. Do you? Doubt you’ll come _half_ that much in the _next_ seven years either.” He said wryly and Sherlock shuddered in excitement. John always meant what he said.

“After the last two months, I'm going to have to remind you that this isn’t about you. Aren't I? I hope you enjoyed all those orgasms, getting hard whenever you wanted, fucked without the cage...be the last time any of that happens.” He stroked at the steel cage and Sherlock watched him with dark eyes. Even though he’d came twice already, Sherlock’s cock flexed, stirring and trying to harden.

”Because you don't deserve any of that. Do you, sweetheart? You don't deserve to have real orgasms anymore." John said, so sweet and gentle and sincere. Sherlock moaned. "Have to remind you of that. I’ve made you come 29 times over the past two months. Pretty generous, huh? I think that’s how many times you'll have to make me come: 29 orgasms as payment for how generous I've been…and then afterwards, I’ll start _thinking_ of unlocking you and letting you get hard again.”

"Yes, sir." Sherlock grinned, reaching down to tug at the cage which didn't move a millimeter. His cock throbbed and tried to swell, straining against the steel, not yet realizing that erections were no longer allowed. "Thank you, John."

"Don't thank me." John leaned over and kissed him, cupping Sherlock's cheek. "I meant what I said. Remember what we decided, love. You don't deserve real orgasms anymore. And I've already let you have them so much these past two months, haven’t I? All you'll be getting for a long, _long_ time will be ruined orgasms...until you can't remember what a _real_ one ever felt like."

Sherlock's grin widened. "I'm looking forward to it, John."

**Author's Note:**

> There will be an alternate sequel to Immutable Intimacy in which Sherlock doesn't safeword and we get to see what goal John had in mind for him.


End file.
